


Shadows

by slothinsocks



Series: Maul’s Infatuation [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Darth Maul Needs a Hug, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Maul being dramatic, Maulmara, Slow Burn, ”he slowly seduced me”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothinsocks/pseuds/slothinsocks
Summary: Amara Cordessa is a new Senator in Coruscant with ties to a powerful individual. Darth Maul takes interest in this new and special stranger.
Relationships: Darth Maul/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Maul’s Infatuation [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893727
Kudos: 50





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> This is my excuse to write about Darth Maul a lot.

“Are you nervous?” 

Bail Organa’s smooth voice had sliced through whatever daze she’d been in, effectively bringing her back into the fray. The senior Senator from Alderaan looked to be hopeful, not nearly as fidgety as the young woman he sat next to. He appeared thoughtful in regards to her mannerisms - the nervousness was more than clear.

“Yes, to tell you the truth. It is frightening enough being a Senator at such a young age. I just hope that I do not disappoint, it sounds as if the Galactic Senate is in a bit of a bind.” The girl replied, hands smoothing themselves continuously across her lap. She sighed, teeth dragging themselves across her lower lip.

Bail chuckled, placing a hand against her shoulder as a gesture of reassurance. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine. You can always ask me questions, should you become lost.” His tone was always genuine, almost fatherly in a way. Taking the girl under his wing had been a risky move to begin with, but she was intelligent with good ideals. It was more than he could say about other politicians. “It’s important that we’re there, for Senator Amidala’s sake.”

“I know. I just wish that I wasn’t so nervous,” She murmured, tucking a fist underneath her chin. Curse her never-ending anxiousness. The mere thought of someone targeting Senators for assassination made her extremely wary. What if she happened to be next? She wouldn’t know, though she had a horrible habit of overthinking every little detail. 

In light of a recent assassination attempt on Amidala’s life, the Senate and Chancellor Palpatine himself had called upon ambassadors and representatives from all corners of the galaxy. Bail Organa was the primary representative for the Core Planet, Alderaan. Things seemed so hectic, unbalanced — it was as if the galaxy had the potential to be launched into yet another conflict. 

Amara Cordessa had never been far from home. It was her first visit to the planet Coruscant herself, knowing just how massive the sprawling capital of the Republic really was. Trillions of denizens packed onto one colossal planet — she was afraid to be all on her lonesome. Her father’s ailing health meant that she was to go in his stead, atop being picked by Organa himself. 

She was overwhelmed, to say the least. The only method of distraction was to gaze endlessly from the window of their cruiser, brows drawn together. Bail’s wife was in her own quarters, allowing the two time to talk. Amara’s father had placed faith in Bail for taking his daughter along to join the Galactic Senate. It was quite the responsibility from someone so prolific already. 

“Thinking of your father?” Bail asked, a furrow forming within his brow. It was often a topic of conversation, Senator Cordessa — the man was a close friend of Chancellor Palpatine long before he’d launched into a successful career in politics. He’d fallen ill as of late, a strange illness with irreparable effects. It was saddening, though when he and Amara had departed, he seemed to be in relatively decent health.

Amara finally peeled her eyes away from the depths of space, stars flittering past the closer they neared Coruscant. She turned slightly, her expression softening upon mention of her father. “Yes,” She hesitated, fingers curling into the hems of her sleeves. “It’s intimidating to take his place, especially when he was so popular already. To be in his shadow and continue his legacy so suddenly is daunting.” 

Bail Organa’s visage became sympathetic, softening somewhat. He could certainly understand being afraid. She was in new territory, and he remembered being her age — younger and naive, taking everything in with a fresh set of eyes. He smiled again, a more paternal look absolving his features. He’d gently pat her hand again. “You’ll do well, Amara. I have faith in you, and I know that your father does, too. I am sure the Chancellor will be happy to meet you.” 

The Chancellor. 

Amara had almost forgotten about Chancellor Palpatine, and mere mention of his name sparked another wave of nervousness. Her father and Palpatine were good friends. What would he think if it were his daughter placed within his stead? Would it disappoint him? Biting at her nails, Amara attempted to conjure up a smile, however, the attempt was feeble and not without questions. “I hope so.” She murmured.

Their conversation quieted to something null, murmurings about the latest political debacle, discussing what they missed from Alderaan, Bail explaining what Coruscant was like. The idle chatter was a good way to distract Amara from thinking about these colossal meetings — she couldn’t make a mistake. Her mind was racing, though even with such a pace, it didn’t stop her from dozing off against the plush seating.

Bail had gone to his wife, leaving the girl out amidst the shuttle’s small cockpit. Coruscant grew closer, the massive planet alight with millions of glistening dots, lights that twinkled even through the dusk. The planet was beautiful, despite the intense population density, the architecture and careful layout provided each denizen with their own amount of space. 

Amara remained asleep until their turbulent landing near one of the many lavish skyscrapers, angular buildings that disappeared into the clouds and beyond. It was a docking bay used to house senators and people of importance — they typically kept such people in lavish suites for such affairs. Bail gingerly shook her awake to get her attention, seeing her groan and roll enough to peer outside. 

“Oh,” She murmured, rubbing at her eyes. “We’ve arrived.” It was nearing the evening on Coruscant, with the clear sky becoming ignited in an impressive canvas of vibrant colors. Orange, in particular, intermingled with the blue from midday and the yellow from a dawning sunset. Night would soon settle in across the planet, a good time for her to recollect and compose herself come the tribulations tomorrow. 

The shuttle finally came to a complete halt, allowing the denizens aboard to collect their belongings and head outside. The fresh air would be needed despite the cramped city environment, Amara knew this immediately. She was far too used to Alderaan’s more mountainous and open environment — the rolling fields surrounded by peaks that escaped into misty clouds.

Coruscant was the opposite of a beautiful meadow surrounded by jagged peaks. The hectic city life would be something she’d get used to, though it didn’t exactly ease her nerves. Amara finally stood to follow Senator Organa, keeping close to both him and his wife. They were excellent people, and she really felt safer if they stayed within her field of view. 

Droids and handmaidens emerged from a large set of doors that paved the way to their new apartments. Still groggy from her slumber, the young woman stretched once or twice, making sure to take a hold of her bag. The others had the rest of her belongings — Amara didn’t know how long she’d be staying in the capital. Everything seemed vague, and even then, she wasn’t given much information to go on.

Filing out of the shuttle and onto the landing bay, her head craned up — so many shuttles, ships and speeders blasting in columns through the skies above, nimbly avoiding buildings. How did so many vessels maneuver properly around all of those structures? A furrow formed within her brow, though she didn’t make any mention of the skies. Instead, she took ahold of her primary bag. 

“It’s good to see you again, Senator Organa.” A kindly woman spoke, though Amara trailed behind him, not wanting to feel as if she were interjecting. She tried to wrap her mind around the sights in the meantime, following the group inside of the lavish building. “Chancellor Palpatine will be pleased to know that you’ve arrived.”

The apartments were clearly designed with luxury in-mind, seeing as the wing they’d be staying in were for visiting Senators. Amara began to tune out the idle chatter, focusing on anything else. The environment and comfortable atmosphere put her nerves to resf, and gave her a sense of ease. Wherever she walked, it was posh, patterned carpet, especially down each winding corridor. 

Bail’s voice had finally brought her from her stupor once more. “I’ll give you time to settle in. I will be just down the hall.” He reassured her, motioning to the set of silvery doors in front of them. Offering her a gentle pat, the Senator and his wife made for their quarters. It left the handmaiden to escort Amara down the hallway, to her own chambers.

Amara knew that the privacy would be comforting, though being all on her own was a little daunting. Giving the handmaiden a cordial nod, she slipped past the doors and into her room, hearing the doors hiss and shut behind her. The space was well-furnished and decorated in varying shades of crimson and gold, along with intermingled hues of black and a steely silver. Placing her bag at the foot of her spacious bed, Amara noticed a note placed on the nightstand.

Strange, considering she’d only just arrived. Gliding around her bed and to the stand, Amara made the jarring discovery of the note’s origin — Chancellor Palpatine himself. Her brows furrowed together as she surveyed the eloquent sentences, words of encouragement and curiosity, condolences of her ailing father, and an eagerness to meet her one-on-one the next morning. 

She felt odd. The Chancellor was wise and powerful, so she’d heard, but the extreme suddenness of the note made her wonder if he’d known something that she hadn’t. Amara had always been a very nervous and skeptical young woman, sometimes afraid of her own shadow, but not without good cause. At least she had the night to sleep away and calm herself for tomorrow’s meeting. She’d need that.

Amara released the parchment, tucking the note near the crystalline orb lamp placed along the center of the nightstand. Aside from the glistening orb, the only other source of illumination happened to be dim braziers along the dark red walls. She stepped forward, onto the smaller balcony, able to absorb an entirely new view of Coruscant. Ships flying by, hundreds of thousands of lights glittering from every which way — this was certainly the opposite of Alderaan. 

With a tender smile, Amara traipsed back to her belongings, fishing through to gather a nightgown and fresh clothing to wear. There were missives from her father, books, more garments, plenty of personal items that held merit, given her lengthy stay in the capital. She left it open, the note still settled against the nightstand. She retreated into the refresher, the door sliding shut behind her.

Amara wasn’t the sort for extravagant and lengthy cleanups, emerging from the washroom after ten minutes or so. Her golden curls were damp still, though her nightgown certainly felt far more comfortable than the gaudy robes she often wore around. Pressing a soft towel against her face, she returned to her bag, hand curling around a series of books. Amara adored reading — something she couldn’t live without.

However, something seemed out of-place. Upon further inspection, a missive from her father was missing … As was Chancellor Palpatine’s note. Her breath hitched within her throat, immediate worry and concern settling in as she whirled around.

A flash of black, a rustle — and yellow eyes. 

Never before had she fled from a room before. She made haste, having dropped her books across the floor, save for the one she’d kept tucked into her robe. She did not care to linger and meet whatever glimpse she’d caught — too dangerous, and she immediately assumed the worst. Were there assassins after her like there were Senator Amidala? 

Her bare feet dashed from the crimson chambers, scrambling into the carpeted corridor. She moved quickly, slamming her palm against Bail’s door. “Senator Organa!” She squeaked, lower lip quivering. She didn’t stop until the doors had flung open.

“Amara? What’s wrong?” Bail asked, brows furrowing together in obvious concern. He’d never seen her so frazzled and scatterbrained before. It must’ve been the new atmosphere and climactic change in surroundings, though he reserved any theories for the time being. He looked a touch exhausted, though didn’t vocalize it.

“There was something in my room!” Amara’s hands trembled as she gripped tighter to the book she carried, throat growing thick. She wouldn’t be able to return until she knew that Bail had done an inspection. He hadn’t seen anything, had he? Why was it just her? “I don’t know what it was.” Her frantic tone lowered into a hushed utterance.

The Senator decided to soothe her nerves, stepping from his chambers and into the hallway. “New environments can be a little overwhelming, Amara. I’m sure it could’ve been a trick of the eyes.” He explained, slipping inside of the silvery doors that led to her own quarters. Nothing seemed out of-place or strange to him, other than the mess of her belongings strewn out across her bed.

Bail stepped toward the balcony, having a look outside and toward the surrounding buildings. Nothing there, aside from the pleasant breeze and bustling Coruscant nightlife. He walked to each nook of her chambers until his inspection was complete, with him standing in the center of her room. “I did see something, Senator Organa. I’m not mad,” Amara protested, casting another stare toward the corner of the balcony. 

Shifting nervously from side to side, she observed Bail as he paced the room, sometimes twice over. She looked somewhat relaxed, but not enough. “I am not seeing anything. Perhaps it’s your nerves, Amara.” He reassured her. “You should try and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long and tiring day for the both of us.” He cautioned, patting her shoulder in passing. He left without much else to say. 

Amara was left feeling foolish, moving towards her bag. Gently collecting the disturbed items, she folded each garment back up, slipping them inside before retrieving the books she’d dropped. Placing her items on top of a spacious desk, her eyes fluttered back towards the balcony again. She was hesitant to go in that direction, fingers twiddling with one another. Perhaps it was best to just go to sleep.

There was a gentle breeze that fluttered throughout the suite, rustling the gossamer curtains and willowy bedsheets. Amara moved toward the balcony this time with a purpose, drawing the curtains closed in one forceful movement. Whoever had stolen her letter had gotten what they wanted — she pretended like she didn’t care. It didn’t matter, did it?

It took her a moment to retreat, casting another lingering stare toward the corner of the balcony. Her brows furrowed together, though she couldn’t simply stand and hold vigil all night. She needed sleep, and Amara finally surrendered to her own exhaustion, falling into bed with a gentle thud. Gently, one hand closed around the silken covers, tucking herself in before she rolled over to face the opposite wall.

She had never been this far from home — her stomach erupted with such nervousness that gnawed away at her even as she closed her eyes. Amara’s hands clutched at the blankets, the evening breeze sweeping across her bare shoulders. She couldn’t properly rest until she looked back just once more …

There was nothing. Just the billowing curtains and the stars twinkling above Coruscant. No shadowy assailant with yellow eyes — just empty space. With a soft sigh, Amara finally shut her eyes, assuming sleep would be difficult.

The girl had fallen asleep within minutes. 

Her dreams danced with images of her father, who wasn’t so fragile within her mind. Dancing around their home, with a kindly woman who looked on with a certain degree of fondness. Running through a flowery meadow in Alderaan, surrounded by snowy mountains. It was so picturesque … It wasn’t always that way. Yet, she shivered — these dreams disappeared within an instant, as if the breath had been ripped from her.

Slumber for Amara was never without peril. Happy memories faded and cracked at the seams, until it all blistered away to unhappy memories. Unpleasantness, distance — coming to Coruscant and being frightened, alone. Her only comfort was in Bail Organa, who seemed more like her father at times. The scenes changed so drastically, until the golden-eyed shadow invaded her mind. 

This spectre seemed closer than one would imagine. 

———

Livid shadows crept quietly across her chambers, projecting themselves like a dark cloud over her slumbering form. The curtains had barely been disturbed, as if graced by a mere spirit. Whoever this individual was, they executed great measures of stealth and silence. There wasn’t a noise — not even a rustling, nothing noisy enough to wake Amara. 

Yellow irises became fixated upon the sleeping Senator, who was huddled within the crimson sheets, hand outstretched toward one edge of the bed. Her fingers were slightly curled into the fabric, as if she were trying to hold on. She looked afraid, brows drawn together and visage one of sadness, and perhaps a longing. 

Strange, the shade contemplated, canting their head to one side. They watched like a predator would prey, and every little movement set them upon the edge. This familiar shadow moved like a ghost, clad in dark robes and a cowl which obscured most of their appearance. They paced the length of her chambers, being careful and treading lightly.

Amara stirred again, alerting the stranger. This time, it seemed serious — she was in pain. She curled inward, her breathing becoming sharper, somewhat strained. The glistening of hot tears became present upon her ivory cheeks, along with more shifting of blankets and fabric. 

With a disinterested grunt, the shadow turned toward her belongings, beginning to rifle through them once more. They hadn’t gotten the proper chance before — the interruption was poor timing. Nothing here. It was fanciful garments and too many articles of whimsical, feminine clothing. Books, too — it wasn’t anything of substance or importance. A sour waste of time.

A sharp breath — a strangled gasp. 

Amara was met with those livid, yellow hues. They looked anguished, full of rage, and before she had time to react at all, a hand had closed over her mouth to prevent her from screaming. It was tight, the other hand moving to roughly grasp a hold of her arm to tug her out of bed. 

It was a man — a man with yellow eyes, rimmed in a malignant red, as if a halo had surrounded the sun itself. Upon closer inspection, his skin was red and black, an impressive maze of intricate patterns and designs that almost seemed otherworldly. With a snarl, he finally spoke in a harsher, husky baritone.

“Do not think of making any noise.” 

She was terrified. This was the shadow from before — the one stealing her letter, rifling through her items as if he were desperately after something. Tears welled within her eyes, though Amara didn’t cry. She was more afraid of what he wanted rather than what he planned to do with her. 

He couldn’t just let her go. She saw him — she would surely tell the Senator. What would become of him, then? If he simply let her flutter free, it endangered both his life and motives. He could kill her, that was an option — one that wouldn’t trouble his conscience. The cowled assailant knew of one idea, though it seemed so foolish. It wasn’t something he was talented at, either. 

A gust of her girlish scent stung his nostrils. Floral perfumes and silky soaps — certainly the making of a young woman who yearned to find her appeal. Curse the smell, and curse her. He growled, attempting to decide what to do with her. It wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. Since when had he grown soft about taking another life? 

It had something to do with her crying and struggling while she slept. He was plagued with nightmares and fantasies of revenge all the same. There was something in her eyes, a loneliness … What was he thinking? His harshness returned, gaze piercing and malevolent as he plotted his next course of action. He didn’t think she would awake. 

Amara shivered, remaining still against him. It was too dark within her chambers to really make out the more intimate details of this man, though he didn’t seem human — not entirely, at least. His grip was strong, almost uncomfortably tight and domineering. It made her flinch and wince, she wasn’t used to being handled like this. It only heightened her anxiousness when his head lowered, as if he were trying to see her expression. 

At last, he released the vice-like grip from her mouth, leather glove slipping away. It was a bold move, yet Amara obeyed. Not a sound emerged from her, and instead, he forcefully pushed her down onto her bed before taking a step or two away. There was something shiny hanging from his belt — a chromium object. 

The man regarded Amara with caution and suspicion. She wasn’t whimpering or begging for mercy, and instead, she’d actually shrunk back against her bed, tears still in her eyes. Fearful and startled, though not pathetic as some had been in the past. He finally assumed a more intimidating posture, yellow eyes never leaving her.

“Are you a friend of the Chancellor?” That voice had rang out again, sending tremors down Amara’s spine. A powerful voice, one that seemed rough, uneven. There were years of pent-up aggression and agony seething within his tone, though it remained controlled, even if it was slight. 

“No,” She stammered, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of her nightgown. Curled up with her legs tucked near her, every move this stranger made had caused her to become wary. “My father is.” 

“Your father,” He uttered, gaze narrowing at her. It was sharp and pointed, though part of him seemed receptive to her information, as if stowing it away for later use. 

“Yes.” Amara whispered, goosebumps forming along her skin as he began to stalk closer. His shadow lingered over her, a looming threat that would be impossible to escape. She cowered, though still offered up information. “Senator Cordessa from Alderaan. I’m Amara, I was sent in his stead.”

Silence filled her chambers, an awkward silence where tension and rifts had formed. There was an energy of anguish that rolled from this man, deep-seated with vengefulness and hatred. It wasn’t all directed at her — there were other things plaguing him. He watched her closely, seeing her avoid eye contact, hang her head or look away. 

“Who are you?” She asked, assuming he wouldn’t answer her. 

“You will answer my questions first.” He snapped, nostrils flaring as he paced around the room again, yellow eyes narrowing as he approached a mural hanging from one of the walls. It was some image of the Jedi Temple that sat at the heart of Coruscant. The strange huffed and snorted derisively at the picture. His head craned over his shoulder. “What does the Chancellor want with you?”

Even Amara couldn’t provide him with an adequate answer. She didn’t know just as much as him, and it filled her with a sense of impending dread. “I — I don’t know,” She whispered, fidgeting with the silky material of her nightgown. “I assume it is because my father was such close friends with him.” 

Fair enough, he thought. She was just some ordinary girl, yet he knew how the Chancellor worked. A master manipulator and one who pulled all of the strings — a dangerous and deadly man. He was once his apprentice — he was once a Darth, until they abandoned him. Until they left him to rot. Mere reflection of those instances made his clenched fists tremble with anger. He would have his revenge and assume the true mantle of the Sith. It was only a matter of time. 

“You are of no further use to me.” He murmured, turning to face her with a scowl. He could tell that even such words coming from him were hurtful, which had him taken aback. “Should you tell your allies of what happened here, our next visit shall not be pleasant.” He warned. Amara knew that he would make good on such a threat.

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone.” She whispered, which clearly caught his attention. Such motives stupefied him to no end — why wouldn’t she gush to Senator Organa or the closest handmaiden? “It doesn’t matter.” Amara murmured, seeing the curiosity within his eyes.

“Strange.” He uttered, seeing her move toward the edge of her bed. Something must’ve happened to make her think like this, which perplexed him more than it should’ve. He drank in her appearance — ivory skin, twinged with rose, her hair a heap of golden curls, eyes a seafoam green. He could feel her frustration, her loneliness — the longing to return home. “Maul.” He answered.

“Maul?” Amara was shocked that he even offered up an answer. He could’ve left just as he came — like a shadow. He didn’t, however. This Maul stood, towering within her chambers, gaze perceptive and unyielding. The cowl still shielded him from view, as did the heavy black robes. He was a mystery. 

“You asked who I was, and I have given you an answer.” He grunted, voice a harsher snarl than before. With a begrudging sigh, Maul moved a step closer, though still kept a comfortable distance away from her. She was far too curious for her own good, and people like that could be dangerous — especially to him. The last thing he needed was a nosy girl. 

Silence drifted between them yet again. Maul intended to leave, though there was something about Amara that continued to tether him there. Her feelings were strong, sensitive, and overruled her — they were impossible not to feel, as if they cried out from every fiber of her being. He watched her stand up — not very tall nor intimidating in the slightest.

Amara moved towards Maul, her hands folded in front of her. She picked at the sleeves of her nightgown until they’d begun to fray at the edges. He didn’t move away, and instead remained resolute, casting his inquisitive eyes upon her. His arms folded themselves across his chest, face still obscured within the dark, woven fabric. 

“May I see you?” 

Such a simple request had scorched Maul as if he’d touched the open coals, a scowl settling upon his features. He did not like her sudden closeness, the way she’d so brazenly moved towards him. His irises reflected such disdain with her actions. However, he didn’t recoil as he thought he might have. She was smaller than he was, her appearance resembling that of a fragile doll. He realized how easy it would’ve been to scare her away, make her fear him … Maul didn’t feel the need to do so, this time.

Instead of retorting with bitter words, Maul instead removed his cowl. The heavy, dark fabric would pull away from his head, revealing his appearance. He knew of his looks - he was not the prettiest sight to see. Being a Zabrak, horns sprouted from several places atop his skull, flesh inked with the dark tattoos their people embraced. His jaw was a bit longer, visage defined with mild signs of strain and exhaustion. Dark lips remained pressed into a thin line, arms folded across his chest. 

Amara didn’t seem startled by his appearance. He was a Zabrak - she had seen one before, though it was Maul’s eyes that captured her intrigue. The way he glowered and hovered over her made her feel a slight sense of unease, mostly due to this feeling of unpredictability. He moved like a liquid shadow, graceful, though clearly pent-up with some underlying need to destroy. She noticed the way his gaze had narrowed, as if awaiting a negative reaction.

“Not the prettiest sight,” Maul uttered, bewildered by her reaction. It was strange, seeing her respond with curiosity rather than disgust. “Certainly not like you.” He murmured, his head canting slightly to one side. In truth, this girl was strikingly beautiful. He could only imagine the softness of her skin, should he choose to touch her … Maul suppressed a snide smirk, noticing the rosy coloration rise to her cheeks. 

A mere compliment made the young Senator all aflutter, as if her stomach had been consumed by butterflies. She twisted her hands together, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. He was overpowering in every sense of the word, his presence both intimidating and invigorating. He was unlike anyone she’d met before, though Maul was certainly harboring secrets of his own. The more her mind wandered, the more Amara wanted to know about him. Not all Zabrak had yellow eyes like his, did they? His intrusive questions about the Chancellor were suspicious, all the same.

“Are you frightened?” Maul questioned, peering down upon her. His gaze remained acute and intense, as if burning a hole through her. He could sense her feelings - the uneasiness, the bewilderment and fascination. He did not sense fear from her, though he wanted to ask and hear her answer, let his mind settle.

Amara finally looked him in the eyes, seafoam hues glistening in the chamber’s dim lighting. “Not entirely,” She breathed, tone barely above a whisper. Her hands continued to twist together, fingers interlocked to keep her from fidgeting. “I am more curious than anything else. You are a Zabrak,” Amara began, “But your eyes are … Different.” She chose her words carefully, searching his face for a reaction.

So she’d noticed. Maul let out a soft ‘hmph’, turning away from her just a bit. She was oddly perceptive - he’d never gotten that impression from most politicians. So many were airheaded fools, so self-centered and loathsome. The Sith had only met a handful who weren’t rotten to the core, though Amara seemed to be the most pious of them all. 

“So observant,” He scoffed, staring at her in a pointed manner. Maul did not know why she was so enraptured with him. As cunning of a warrior as he was, this fascination was so … Odd. Yet, who was he to judge her? The Zabrak was somewhat enamored with her, too. However, he showed restraint. He was subtle, controlled - Amara allowed her feelings to bleed freely, and he could detect each and every one. 

Maul began to pace toward the balcony, roughly shoving aside the curtains. He did not intend on staying for much longer. The more he lingered, the more he endangered himself and his mission. His former master was due for much-needed vengeance - and he intended to deliver, Maul swore this to himself. He could hear Amara skitter after him, still desperate for answers to her dozens of questions. 

“Wait,” Her hand gently grasped at the sleeve of his robe. Typically, such a careless action would result in a quick ignition of his lightsaber, though he spared Amara from his antics. For now, at least. Maul stopped when he moved beyond the curtains, seeing her little hand curled into the dark fabric.

“What?” Maul snapped, his tone far more harsher than he intended it to be. He watched her flinch away, though his expression seemed somewhat apologetic. He’d leaned closer, ringed irises boring down into her shapely face. “I’ve lingered here for too long, dear Senator.” He uttered. He had work to do. Every second he spent standing here in her presence, was a second wasted chasing his revenge. 

Amara blushed, a rosy pallor sinking into her cheeks. Her grasp was still wrenched into the billowing sleeve of his robe, though underneath, she felt his brawn and muscle, along with a powerful warmth that radiated from him. It made her flustered, though she did her best to mask it all with grace. It was strange to think that Maul would ever care about her feelings, given his callousness, but she was so terribly alone. Having at least one person, even him, would make her happy. 

“Couldn’t … Couldn’t you come back?” Once again, Amara never failed to surprise Maul. What woman would so boldly seek his company? He’d had plenty of encounters with harlots on other planets, pining for his certain attributes, though Amara just seemed … Genuine. Everything about her was tender, a soft caress or a pretty smile, a kind heart. She was so lost — frightened of the unknown and afraid of what it would do to her.

Her loneliness was so palpable and real, a raw sensation that Maul could feel. She was desperate for something, for someone — an anchor. Maul’s gaze narrowed, his demeanor conflicted. It was a clash inside of his mind. He could see that yearning in her eyes, the desire to have just one person there who could understand how she felt. 

Senses and wits told him to flee. This would be the last time he’d ever see her — it should be. Sensibility and rationale would tell Maul that seeking her out again would only send him on a spiral of unpredictability. What about his plans? All of the obstacles he’d climbed through to seek his vengeance, could potentially be thwarted by this girl. He was a powerful Sith, a Darth — couldn’t he have both? 

“Perhaps.” 

It would be enough to satisfy Amara. Maul was not entirely solid on his decisions, though he could tell that what he’d said had pleased the Senator. A Senator, Maul nearly laughed at himself. Of all the people to become entangled with, it was a politician. They weren’t always the best of company. 

She smiled, fingertips barely grazing his arm. It sent a searing warmth across his skin, as if he’d been electrocuted. Maul had never been treated with care and civility to begin with. Amara was one of the first people to be gentle, albeit fleeting. He would be lying if he said he didn’t think about how it would feel … But it was far-fetched, a fantasy lying in the back of his mind. There was no use in flirting with a fantasy that wouldn’t come to fruition.

It made him realize how lonely he was, too. How starved … Maul had to tear his eyes away from her, move away from her touch. It was almost overbearing and overwhelming, not to mention her scent, which clouded his mind whenever they were in close proximity together. Yet, he knew if he saw her again, he would need to settle down and handle this all with some grace. 

“I — I suppose I will see you soon, I hope.” Amara spoke, seafoam hues flickering over his form once or twice. His posture was standoffish and indifferent, closed off to her, now. She noticed this, though made no comment. 

Maul edged toward the bannister, pulling up his cowl. Those yellow eyes appeared all the more brilliant when darkness surrounded him. The eyes of a well-trained predator, more or less. His gaze lingered upon her, and for a moment, he seemed thoughtful. He did not say anything for the longest time, as if he were decisively choosing his next words.

“Leave the curtains open.” He uttered. 

Amara felt her breath hitch within her throat before she nodded several times over. She watched as Maul grappled the edging of the balcony, tossing himself over the side. He disappeared, like a spectre in the night, a shadow who moved, unseen and undetected. He went just as he came — the flash of black, the rustling of heavy woven garments.

As Amara retreated back to the comfortable confinements of her blankets and silk sheets, her posture now faced the balcony, curtains drawn back, just as he requested of her. It was difficult to fall asleep, her mind was too frantic, racing and scatterbrained. Yet, those piercing yellow eyes were never too far from her mind’s eye. 

They would come to consume her dreams, and Amara was left waiting for when Maul would return.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! There will be 2 more parts to this specific storyline, though I plan on making a whole series of oneshots dedicated to Maul & Amara. Kudos & feedback are loved but never required! Thanks for reading! :)


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